With Roses In My Hands
by Bleak Dawn
Summary: The table had turned and here was Draco Malfoy, reformed coward and Death Eater, wandless, bruised and bleeding, staring at Death in the eyes and overwhelmed by the strangest feeling. He felt peaceful.


**Author's Note**: Hello and welcome. This a little something I wrote quite some time ago and never got around publishing. The reason is that I never could decide if it needed more or if it just was enough the way it is now, the way you are about to read it. So I've decided that I'll just let you decide whether you'd be interested in more chapters or not. Enjoy.

**Prologue: And miles to go before I sleep...**

The three hooded figures hovered over him, wands drawn menacingly at his battered body.

_So…this is it then._

He was waiting for panic to set in, for his cunnings to kick into overdrive trying to figure out a way, anything to get away, to flee…to save his life.

_Think_

_Think_

_Think, of what exactly?_

There was no escaping this and he knew it. He'd known it when he'd decided to come in spite of everything and he knew it now that he had lost the battle. It was hardly a fair one either; five against one; but then again, fair had never been in the Death Eaters rulebook.

He had known that it'd eventually come to this very moment, when Potter had stormed out of his fireplace all those weeks ago, shaking with disbelief to inform him that a group of his former "associates" had found a way out of Azkaban. The auror had argued that he needed to hide, to seek a safer place—maybe even leave Britain for a while. Panic had been pouring out of him, melting into hers and _she_ had pleaded, _she_ had begged, _she_ had beseeched him to listen to her best friend. But he wouldn't.

_I couldn't_

_I couldn't_

_I couldn't do that to her. _

He had no right to. Not after everything she had been through all those years ago. Not after surviving a War and its sufferings. Not after finally finding her place in the world. He couldn't force her into a life of hiding, of constant danger, of dread and threats lurking in the shadows of every corner. And to be honest, he didn't want that sword of Damocles upon himself either.

_Not anymore._

_I couldn't be that person, anymore._

The Slytherin who chose flight over fight, who didn't have the guts to stand up for himself, who just couldn't say _no_;that part of him had died away during his three year stay at Azkaban where he had been put for his involvement with the Dark Lord and for being a Death Eater. He had been released earlier than most, thanks to the one and only, the boy-who-lived Harry Potter, who had testified in his favor.

It was ironic really, how his former enemy had graciously offered him his freedom back, while here were his former friends ready to take it back mercilessly.

The table had turned and here was Draco Malfoy, reformed coward and Death Eater, wandless, bruised and bleeding, staring at Death in the eyes and overwhelmed by the strangest feeling.

He felt peaceful.

It was the oddest thing and he wondered why. Why of all the emotions he could be splitting apart from he was lying there with nothing but that inexplicable calmness washing over him.

Was he just numb now that it was all over? Was the fear going to claim him at the last possible moment, taking his final breath away? Or was this _something_ else? Was this normal?

He couldn't fathom it. Maybe he simply hadn't come to terms with the fact that he was going to die.

_I'm I going to die?_

_Really going to die?_

The interrogation swirled in his mind, settling in with ease. It had been a familiar thought, a long time ago. His sense of self-preservation had shuddered at the thought and quivered in front of the possibility. When the War had been his day-to-day existence and Hope nothing short of a foreign concept, out of reach—at least for the likes of him—, he'd often tried to imagine when his demise will take place and by whose hand. Ironically enough, Voldemort's skeletal hand had been the answer to that more often than one of the Order's. It was probably fitting that the Dark Lord's remaining servants were now about to commit the deed he had feared for so many nights their master will inflict upon him.

So where was the fear? Where was the outraged cry from within that this wasn't fair, that this wasn't right?

_Why am I not trembling and begging for my life to be speared?_

_Have I changed this much? _

Back then, he'd had absolutely nothing to lose except for his life, even though he'd had nothing to live for and he'd been terrified of dying. However, now that he had every reason to go on living and a lot to lose…

_I'm ready._

_I'm ready to die._

It was puzzling to say the least; that unsuspected sense of rightness just then, embracing his soul and steadying his heart. And a weird and wonderful thought occurred to him…

Maybe, just maybe that now that he'd known the real meaning of friendship, now that he had learned to trust and forgive wholeheartedly, to not begrudge unnecessarily and have faith in himself and others around him; now that he understood what real togetherness meant and what it could accomplish, now that he had discovered what it felt like to be free to care, to listen to oneself and to fight for what you believe is right; now that he no longer hated himself and the world and had found that he had dreams of his own and someone to share his life with…Now that he'd tasted love in every possible way, savoring every aspect and thrived in its limitless beauty. Maybe, just maybe…he'd obtained everything that his heart secretly had longed and wished for?

_Yes._

Realization dawned on him with its unwavering certainty, knocking the breath out of him.

_I'm content._

A part of him, a very small part of him was starting to rebel against that_. You've barely even begun! How can you feel like you're satisfied with what you have? There's more you have yet to learn about friendship, more to understand about life, more to discover about yourself, more dreams to envision and more love, so much more love to cherish!_

_I know. _

_But this has to end here._

More Death Eaters would come—of that, he was convinced and if not tonight, eventually some other one. He may have redeemed himself, severed all ties with who he'd been before; it could never be erased. He had been on the wrong side of the War, the wrong side of everything throughout his life. And even now that he'd found _her_ and_ them_, he knew that most of the wizarding community didn't understand how the war heroes could treat him with what they believed was misplaced affection and undeserved forgiveness. Evidently, Death Eaters didn't understand how he could have so blatantly turned his back on every value and idea he'd been raised and taught to respect.

He was trapped between doubt and vengeance and he knew, he knew that it would never change.

_Despite her reassurances, her comfort and her compassion,_

_Despite her love; I'll forever be stuck in between._

_I will never be enough; and she deserves more._

He wasn't feeling sorry for himself; it wasn't some kind of grand, dramatic gesture to prove the world wrong. He was simply tired of running from his past and had come at it instead. He had fought the five Death Eaters, succeeding in defeating two while injuring the others.

He had lost but had of nothing to be ashamed.

Because, for once in his life, he'd stood up for himself and what _he_ believed in and fought those who tried to destroy him. And _that,_ that right there was why he wasn't afraid of dying.

_How bloody Gryffindor of me._

The thought made his split lips stretch into a tentative smile. He opened his only valid eye and stared at the dark sky. The moon was perched above, swimming over the clouds. The three men gathered closer.

"What are you smiling at you filthy piece of shit!"

"You still think that you're better than us?"

"Where are your little friends now, huh? Why aren't their here to save your precious blood-traitor arse!"

"You're nothing! We will avenge the Dark Lord!"

"Starting with you"

He wasn't paying attention to them. They seemed so far away already as his essences slowly seeped into the ground beneath him and he continued to gaze at the moon.

Now was his time and Draco Malfoy accepted it with incredible serenity. Brown eyes floated in his mind and his smile widened, greeting more than Death.

_There you are…_

"What are you smiling at!"

_I regret nothing._

"He's lost his mind"

_I regret nothing…_

"Let's finish this"

_Nothing but you,_

"Avada Kedavra"

_Hermione._


End file.
